


Drive

by Maleyah (Katherine_Kat)



Series: Season 15 Codas [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Coda 15x18, Dean Prays to Castiel, Dean's dirty prayers, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, For Shits and Giggles, It could work, Lizard Brain, M/M, Mal wrote a thing, Mal's brain also leaked out of her ear, Wings, but y'know, post episode 15x18, very not serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27476038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine_Kat/pseuds/Maleyah
Summary: Dean's prayers take a turn for the sensual, which drives The Empty to the brink.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Season 15 Codas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015657
Comments: 60
Kudos: 317





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TANSTAAFL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TANSTAAFL/gifts).



> A non serious approach at it. Unbeta'ed, cause I have zero patience. 
> 
> Thanks, Tanstaafl, you always come up with the greatest ideas! I love you. So have this as a gift? I'm sorry, but not ashamed. But not really sorry either.
> 
> The title song is this lovely little [gem](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJi5nmZ_O7k).
> 
> Hugs,  
> Mal

"Make it stop," she screeches, her face mere inches from his.

"I can't!" Castiel barks.

"He's praying to you! To _you_! Why do I have to hear every one of his filthy ideas?!"

Fair question, Castiel thinks, and one he'd like the answer to as well. Granted, life in The Empty has gotten a lot more lively since Dean's prayers got blared through invisible speakers as if they're at the NASCAR races. Gentlemen, start your engines! Except there's only one engine Dean's gunning for, even if he has no idea Castiel can hear him. Listens to his every word when he's pleading for touch, when he's so specific about which parts of Castiel he wants where...

The Empty's eyes - Meg's - are wide, bloodshot and desperate, and her hands shoot out to grab his face. Quickly, he dodges her, unnerved by the genuine emotion in a face of one he cared for. "Don't touch me."

His skin's a furnace, his insides roaring like one of those NASCAR vehicles. Somehow cars factor into this, which he puts down to Dean's influence.

She cringes, covering her ears. To no avail. "Oh, no, he's going on about that tongue thing again... What am I supposed to _do_ with this?!"

"Cope," he bites.

"Cope?!" she snarls. "If I'd known you two would be doing the celestial two-backed beast across the boundaries of time and space!"

Castiel shrugs, a hapless smile tugging at his lips, because in a way, they have been. Another huge 'fuck you', if he's ever seen one, and they've delivered a few over the years. "Well, technically, he's still on foreplay right now."

She screams through clenched teeth, all of her shaking with barely contained rage.

Because Castiel has learned a thing or two since this started. Dean likes his foreplay. He likes to push himself to the edge and hold there, drawing it out for far longer than Castiel would be able to, if he were there with Dean.

How it fits in the reality of Earth in its current state is unclear.

Maybe he's stuck in a self-indulgent coma. (Admit. They've had weirder shit happen to them.)

Maybe he's given up and is just wanking himself into oblivion. (Unlikely. Beautiful, somewhat tragic visuals that really shouldn't appeal, but hey. Ahem. Unlikely.)

Maybe it's his last coping mechanism to unwind. (Not _as_ unlikely...?)

He wonders if Sam and Jack are aware, but if so, what's the point? Not like anyone can stop Dean from getting lost in his fantasies at night. Or during the day. In Baby. He's got a few choice recurring fantasies in Baby. Intricate enough for Castiel to be able to smell her leather. And Dean. Others while he's singing along to the radio. In the shower. While he's cooking. (He's still cooking. That's good.) As he puts his clothes on in the morning. Every time he undresses and gets lost in touching himself, until Castiel is fit to burst. But he can't. His wings are a mess, feathers askew and quivering at the merest hint of another prayer. A whisper is enough to send heat through them and every part of his angelic body that has learned the ways of humans. He heats to the tips of his ears and his curling toes. His insides tumble with want.

Not all ways of humans though. There are some he decidedly did not get to explore, because he was convinced he couldn't have him.

Boy, was he wrong.

And, boy oh boy, does he want to.

But there's nowhere for him to, uhh, strategically retreat here. So he's been walking around with his blood on fire for who knows how long. Time... is a funny thing when you're on the receiving end of your beloved's increasingly more intense sexual, borderline desperate fantasies. There's something extremely intimate about hearing his name tumble from Dean's lips on breathy exhales, the pitch high and vulnerable enough it almost shattered his heart the first time he heard it. Overall, Dean enjoys his pleasure quiet in the build-up. Even his climaxes are more often gasped, like whispered secrets. But the stream of consciousness barely ever lets up, reduced to images and impressions and everything he wishes they could have had. Would have had Castiel do to him. Would have done to Castiel. His tactile needs run so deep, Castiel wants to wrap him in his arms, his wings, his grace.

The area around his wings feels tight, so he rolls his shoulders. He lets his feelings mingle with Dean's, loosening up his muscles. Willing the despair away, he drops his head back, eyes closed, muttering replies softly. The want rushes out from where it was sinuously pooling low in his being to his extremities. He's indulged in that, at least, in letting himself simmer on that edge. Of allowing each and every syllable uttered by the Righteous Man to wash over him, soak him down to his grace. Hell, Dean's brought him to completion with his 'prayers' alone. (They're using the term loosely, okay?)

The Empty is forgiving in that sense. Instant clean-up. The location, not the entity, mind.

He smiles when Dean's timbre licks up the side of his neck to his ear. A hand slithers between his thighs and a...

"ENOUGH!"

Sighing, Castiel glowers at her. "Never enough, to be honest."

"Your decade-long slow burn is not my fault," she snaps.

"No," he admits. "That may have been my own. Ours. For not talking. But what else is new?"

"So you're trying to hit your word count for that decade on my time? In my space?"

He smiles. "Maybe. Isn't that a lovely idea?"

"It's a _terrible_ idea!"

He moans, when a delectable sliver of desire, _Cas, honey, I'm a_ _lmost_ _there, can you feel me, please, Cas_ feeling, hits him. She lets out a disgusted sound that dissolves in something else. "No! I can't _take_ this anymore! Get the fuck out!"

"Hmm?" he hums, brain sluggish with an impending feeling of something... something... "Dean..."

The snap of fingers registers before anything else does. Air expels from his lungs with the feeling of being folded in on himself so he can fit between the boundaries of the planes of reality, and he pops into existence in all too familiar surroundings.

At the end of Dean's bed.

They stare for a good long while. Some habits are hard to break and forgive them, no one was expecting _this_. Clearly, least of all, Dean who is stark naked, sprawled against his sheets. Is that one of Castiel's old trenches?

"Cas?"

"Dean..."


	2. Holding you up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't change him. Me. Us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little follow-up for that first bit, because they deserve a kiss. Very much so.
> 
> There might be more, if and when my brain decides to cooperate.
> 
> Hugs to you and yours,  
> A tired Mal

"Cas?"

"Dean..."

His timbre drops south of normal, because he's instantly afraid that if he speaks too loud, someone will know. The Empty. Chuck. And this moment... this moment is everything. Freeze time. Stop the world turning.  _ Don't ever change another thing, _ he pleads, screams in his head,  _ don't change him. Me. Us _ . 

But then Dean moves. Calmer than he anticipated. Cautious, heedless of how naked he is under Castiel's gaze. Not for the first time, because he saw Dean bared, pure and raw, the very first time they touched. His right hand on Dean's left shoulder. The fingers twitch in a ghost response, when Dean crawls closer across the crumpled up sheets. To the end of the bed, blindly reaching for the wooden footboard, because his eyes - those haunting, oh so familiar, green eyes, now swirling with a painful kind of disbelief - they're stuck on Castiel's face. Unblinking. Because he knows Dean's scared that if he so much as blinks Castiel will be gone again.

Their vulnerability hits him with a vengeance and he allows it in, breathing out a shuddering breath when Dean's trembling fingers reach for him.

His tie twists under the touch. Pulls taut when Dean pinches it between his thumb and index, and tugs a few times. Testing, testing. A wet, surprised kind of laugh follows, when neither of them suddenly poofs out of existence.

"You're here," he mutters. "You're here. You'rehereyou'rehere... y... you..."

Dean loses his breath and swallows. Unable to move closer, Castiel wants to reply to the affirmative, but his throat is bone dry and his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. So he nods half a dozen times, fervently, Dean's moist eyes now flicking across his face, assessing him for damage. And then, gorgeously, blessedly, finally,  _ suddenly _ he's got his arms full, as Dean lunges forward and throws his arms around his neck. He always knew his hunter, his Righteous Man, was strong, but desperation lends a special kind of edge to the gesture. He's almost clawed into Dean's arms, knees hitting the end of the bed, as blunt fingers dig into his trench and shoulder muscles. His body responds on instinct, driven by that divine inclination to  _ connect _ , the one they've both been craving for years.

The moment their lips meet, his whole being lights up with years of  _ something _ beyond his comprehension, except in words that never quite reach high enough. He scrunches his eyes shut, because this... hurts. It's like every part of him that's been held in stasis begins vibrating at an alarming frequency to rearrange. Around Dean. This new world.

_ Don't change him. Me. Us _ .


End file.
